IRELAND

V ENGLAND 2017

In the year of 17, in the Spring of the year,
All conquering England, they came over here.
An easy grand slam, if the Irish dared show,
All they got was defeat, and nothing to show.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

The sun it was bright, and the rain well at bay,
The white English hordes, they sailed oer the say.
To beat poor old Paddy, they thought just a chore,
You will in your arse said Rory Best, with a roar.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

They strolled into town with smiles broad and wide,
Full of importance, grandeur and pride.
Onto the field, so pristine in white,
After only twenty minutes, Henderson had them in shite.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

The Tank up the middle, he cut like a scythe,
With Tadhg beside him, big, bold and wild.
In vain they tried to stop his short tours,
Says he Get out of me way, yiz big ugly hoors.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

At half-time inside for a break and a chat,
Surly Eddie Jones was eating his hat.
For the English clean gear for to pose and to pout,
For the Irish ten fags and a bottle of stout.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

The English came at us like a big wave,
Farting and blowing, their face for to save.
They huffed and they puffed, all through the half,
You wont get by me, said Henshaw with a laugh.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

The match now over, with heads bowed and bent,
Up for their medals, half-hearted they went.
With pints full of tears, so sad and alone,
Having to listen to The Fields and Molly Malone.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.

The sun never sets, on the empire they say,
But its dark today, down Twickenham way.
Theyll walk and theyll cycle, with arses kicked sore,
The old chariot is banjaxed for ever more.
Toor a loo, toor a line,
You can shove those sweet chariots where the sun it dont shine.


N. WALL
Enniscorthy RFC
(2017)